Sequel to The Wedding Dance
By magista
Spoilers up to 'Wrecked'
Dance of the Hours
The cab finally pulled up in front of the Summers home. Since most cabbies in Sunnydale had the sense to install partitions between front and back, Buffy, Dawn and Spike had crowded together across the rear seat. Somehow, Dawn had ended up in the middle position, leaving Spike out of Buffy's reach. She found it hard to believe how much it mattered suddenly, being near to him. For his part, Spike found Dawn's comment about 'riding the hump' just plain disturbing - definitely a new sensation for him.
Buffy slipped her hand into Spike's again as they started up the walk, but felt no need to speak. Even Dawn seemed too tired to talk, which in itself was an event ranking just second to the end of the world. She opened the front door to let them in, then started the mundane business of putting away coats, purses and wraps, until she noticed that Spike still lingered on the porch.
"Spike? Aren't you . . .?"
"Just like to hear you say it, love. So there's no doubt, you see."
Buffy extended her hand to him across the threshold. "I'd . . . like you to . . . please come in," she managed at last. Spike stepped across, and curved his arm gently about her waist.
"See?" he said. "Not so hard."
"Whew. I'm just glad we're home at last," Buffy sighed, leaning into his embrace. "And at least one of us is way overdue on getting to bed."
"And you are too, Dawn," Spike added. Buffy elbowed him. "What?" he demanded. "Little Bit's neither blind," he trailed two fingers along Buffy's collarbone, from her shoulder inward, "nor is she stupid," and then drew them down into the hollow between her breasts. He looked over Buffy's shoulder into Dawn's widening eyes. "You still here?" Dawn broke for the stairs and ran to the top, not stopping until her door slammed behind her.
"Well, that should keep her for a while," Spike laughed.
"Do you really want her in her room imagining everything that's going on?"
"Let her imagine," he said. He bit his plush lower lip and smiled, bringing creases to the corners of his eyes. "She'll never keep up."
And with that comment, he dropped his mouth to hers. Worries about what Dawn might think forgotten, Buffy sucked on his lower lip gently, enjoying how it made him groan into her mouth and clutch her hips tightly to his. His arousal was already quite evident.
"Couch?" he questioned roughly, at length. "Can't get too far. Or I could probably manage kitchen table. Counter's a little too high, though."
"Bed. Mine. You in it," Buffy gasped, suddenly not able to manage complete sentences.
"Ah. Right. Give us a moment then." He took a breath he didn't need, and lifted her into his arms. "You always this demanding?" he asked, as he started up the stairs. "Not that I mind, love, so long as it's me you're demanding."
"You talk too much Spike, you know that?" So he didn't say another word as he carried her to her door and set her down.
The door had barely closed behind them when he lunged for her again, one hand closing in her hair to draw her head back for another, more urgent kiss. Her hands slipped under his suit jacket, caressing the muscles of his back and then pulling him to her with crushing strength. In a moment, he was glad he didn't need to breathe.
Buffy suddenly broke out of their embrace and, reaching for the hem of her dress, drew it off over her head with one smooth movement.
"I knew there was a reason I liked that dress so well--" The rest of that thought went unsaid, though, because she put both hands on his chest and pushed him back, hard, until his legs met the bed and he collapsed onto his back on the white comforter. Buffy immediately straddled his thighs, and reached for his fly. She opened his pants just enough to free his erection, then lifted herself over him.
"Buffy, love, you forgot something," he whispered, then curled strong fingers in her panties and tore the scrap of lace from her hips. Now clad in no more than her rhinestone-studded heels, she lowered herself onto him, impaling herself for her pleasure. Trapped beneath her, he could only move at her pace, slamming his hips upward as she descended to meet him. The heat that enveloped him was sure to destroy him, but he willingly offered himself in sacrifice. Anything to prolong the sensations wracking him.
His hands skimmed up her body, stopping to circle her narrow waist, then flowed up her back to pull her towards him. He curled himself upward to bring her within reach of his mouth, then licked the droplets of sweat from her golden skin, filling his mouth and nose with the scent of her, only her. Though it had been only minutes, he felt as though they had been locked in this embrace for hours, wearing him away as water does the hardest stone. At last, her back arched like a drawn bow, she gave a single stuttering, wordless cry like the call of some wild bird, and he felt her inner muscles clench spasmodically in release. He surrendered himself as well, and followed her in the spiral down into darkness as she collapsed on top of him.
Some minutes later, Spike gently rolled Buffy off of him, and lifted stray damp tendrils of hair from her face. "Well," he ventured, "seems that someone here was desperate for a good shag." Then he watched with amusement the blush that grew in her cheeks. After everything that has already happened between us, now it embarrasses her?
He couldn't resist another verbal jab. "I was particularly fond of the shoes, love. Think you might keep them on the rest of the night?" Now her shoulders and even her belly began to be mottled rose with embarrassment. But before Buffy could bring her hands up to cover her face - or pound him, more likely - he encircled her wrists with cool fingers. This time, he'd watch his mouth. Just a bit, until he could make her understand.
"Look at me, love. It's just a tease. It's what I do, same as you when you fight - because it wouldn't be nearly as good without it, would it?" Spike sighed theatrically. "Shan't stop until you give as good as you get, pet, though you might find it difficult to match me. Teachers always did despair of me - said I had a wicked tongue."
Buffy drew a deep breath and locked her eyes on his. She wet her lips, then whispered "Prove it".
"Now that's my Slayer," he laughed. "And I'll do just that, soon as you help me free of these rather confining togs. Patience is a virtue, even though virtue's not something I'd normally encourage in a lover." So Buffy found herself sitting naked on her own bed, with her feet (in strappy rhinestone stilettos) tucked under her, undressing a vampire. Not how I ever could have predicted this evening would end, even if I'd had a hundred lifetimes.
The coat was simple, and she slipped it from his shoulders, enjoying the feel of him under her hands. The shirt itself took more attention, since it had ordinary buttons, but wasn't using them - being fastened instead by tiny gemstone studs. Buffy made sure to refasten each stud into the shirt before moving on to the next. Spike raised his chin as she opened the first few, and she could suddenly see the vulnerability of his white throat as a vampire might. Leaning forward, she scraped her teeth delicately across the pale skin and was rewarded with a rumbling growl from deep in his chest.
As each stud was opened, Buffy spread Spike's shirt wider. Seized with a sudden curiosity, she pressed her open lips to his chest and tasted his flesh, licking in small, delicate circles behind each stud. His arms came up around her and his nails grazed random patterns up and down her back, making her shiver. She opened the last stud, then slid her hands under the fabric to slip it down his arms.
"Cuffs," he said shortly, then tended to them himself, taking the same moment to kick off his shoes. Looking into his eyes, she saw naked hunger and lust.
"Don't know if I'm going to be too strong in the virtue department myself, love. Don't think I can wait much longer."
He stood to allow his pants to be removed. As they slid off his narrow hips, an idle observer in a small unused corner of her mind commented that a man more than a hundred years old might still find 'tighty whitey' briefs a little too newfangled and was that why he didn't seem to be wearing any underwear? Not like I had any time to notice, earlier.
He climbed back onto the bed behind her, cupping her chin with his right hand to draw her head to one side. Though his erection pressed urgently against her hip, her attention was soon riveted instead by the sensation of Spike's tongue sweeping slowly along her hairline and behind her left ear. He paused for a moment to gently suck her earlobe between his lips, careful of the silver hoop there, then continued down her throat. With one arm across her chest, he gently pressed her back to the bed. He lay beside her, his tongue softly teasing her mouth open, then plunging eagerly to meet her own.
Slowly, he worked his way down her body. Her nipples he attacked with a hard, pointed tongue tip, until they had stiffened to his satisfaction, Then he sucked one, then the other into his mouth, caressing them softly again. A slow line of wet kisses trailed down her belly, until he could dip gently into her navel. Then he stopped.
Buffy cried out in frustration, and lifted her hips towards him.
"Patience, love, is always rewarded," he smiled. Inside his head, the litany ran talking to Xander about construction projects, asking Giles to explain some obscure point of demonology, ice cold water, hearing about Willow's kitten again, getting a stake in the heart . . . Anything to maintain his rapidly shredding control.
Spike slid to the end of the bed and turned his attention to her feet. His tongue curled lazily around one anklebone then teased her instep. The shoes will probably have to go after all; don't want to be accidentally staked in the back. The suddenly intrusive thought of the necessary contortion nearly undid him.
He continued teasing her feet, gently biting and kissing, while he removed her shoes, then began working his way up her legs. Her breath hissed sharply as he tasted the delicate skin of her inner thighs, and he felt as though he might drown in the scent of her arousal. Cradling her hips like he would a fine chalice, he bent his head to taste her. He tasted himself as well, bitter in her sweetness, and marvelled again that he was the one, he had been inside her, surrounded by the heat and strength (and lust, oh yes) that was the Slayer. He softened his tongue to caress her, then bared his teeth in a gentle bite. As he felt her climax building, he changed his approach, thrusting into her sharply.
Buffy's response was a wordless moan as Spike's tongue invaded her. One hand clutched in his soft hair as the other twined in the sheets, nearly tearing them as her body surrendered all control to him. Her orgasm thundered through her, wave after wave of sensations leaving her limp and weak beneath him, as she had been once before. No one else has ever made me feel so . . . Why did I make us both wait so long?
As silently and silkily as a shadow, he slid upward along her body and plunged deeply into her. His wet mouth met her own, open hungrily to taste him, and she felt another tremor of arousal shake her body. As Spike tensed in her arms, spilling himself into her yet again, she locked her legs around his back and let the world come apart around her.
Soft kisses, caresses and whispers of nonsense brought them back to their senses together. "Some rest now, I think," Spike murmured as he gently withdrew, to lie beside her and draw her close to his chest. Buffy didn't reply, but nestled close, content for the moment to just be herself, here in her skin, held by this man who loved her. Sleep claimed them both shortly thereafter.
**********
Spike awoke at last; some inner sense warning him that sunrise would soon be at hand. He lay curled behind her, warm with stolen heat, his left arm about her and his hand enfolding one small breast. He lazily stroked the nipple with his thumb and smiled into her hair as it came erect beneath his touch.
"Buffy, love," he whispered, trailing a line of kisses up her throat to her ear. "I have to go soon." He nipped gently at her ear with blunt teeth. "Sunrise."
"Stay w'me," she murmured from her sleep.
"I can't. Mr. Golden Sun has it in for me." Heaven - someone - help them both, this bit of nonsense actually seemed to rouse her.
"I c'n close the blinds, and the curtains. Keep it dark enough."
"True, but there's another problem. All I've got for clothes is that suit there, and it's not the sort of thing I want to be prancing home in later. It's more a skulk-home-drunkenly-just-before-dawn kind of look." And it smells very strongly of Slayer and sex, which I do not intend to share.
"Well, we can probably find you something . . ."
"Oh please. And will it be as fetching as Xander's ensemble was?" His raised dark brows spoke volumes (mostly rude) about his opinion on that matter.
"Or go past your crypt and pick up your one other outfit. You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you wanted to leave."
"But you do know me better." Spike rolled himself on top of her, forcing her tightly against the bed, and crushed her lips with his. His tongue demanded entry to her mouth, and she surrendered, letting him thrust deeply, only to ambush him with teeth, lips and tongue of her own. Summoning her strength, she pushed him back and twisted beneath him until she ended up with one knee pinning his chest, and both his wrists prisoners in her hands. The view would have left him breathless, if he'd had any. Buffy smiled down at him, then pushed off to go tend to the windows.
Spike raised himself on his elbows, the better to watch her lithe, nude form pad about the room, securing the blinds to keep him safe from the destroying sun. She was his deadly goddess, in whose temple he delighted to worship. A cold marble woman, come to trembling warm life - his Galatea - although, Spike thought, given the probable lack of exposure to the classics in the California education system, he'd do best to keep another woman's name tightly behind his lips. Finished with her task, Buffy returned to the bed. She glanced covertly at the sheets muddled over his hips, then met his eyes squarely.
"Well," she murmured, with a smile far from innocent, "as long as you're up . . ."
Some time later, as Spike wearily laid his head back to the pillows, he thought if this is some new method of destroying vampires, it beats all hell out of the old one.
**********
"Ooof," Buffy moaned, as she slapped the snooze button on the alarm. "Now I have to get going. The cleaning crew and the party equipment rental company will be at the Magic Box in an hour, and I promised that I'd be there to supervise them. Then Dawn and I have to get some groceries and lots of other mundane house jobs done. You'll be on your own here until we get back." Buffy made to push back the covers, but Spike caught her wrist with iron fingers.
"Sorry love, but the correct order of things is coming, then going." And Buffy felt a throbbing deep within her, like the lowest note of some vast instrument, as he trailed his left hand down her belly to caress the damp curls between her thighs. Her knees parted eagerly to let him slip first one, and then a second finger into her, beginning slow, gentle strokes. Her hips lifted involuntarily from the bed and she pressed against his hand to allow him, to beg him, to plunge even more deeply. Buffy let her eyes close again, and moaned softly. Her rhythm quickened but Spike easily matched it, thrusting measure for measure. His lips provided a counterpoint, whispering hotly in her ear all the different ways he would please her. A third finger stretched her achingly taut, while his thumb added delicate grace notes that finally brought her up to a shattering crescendo. And then he muted her cry with his own mouth as she came back down.
It was some time before Buffy could catch her breath and open her eyes. She looked up at Spike propped up beside her on one elbow; his face wore what she imagined must be the self-satisfied smirk of a lover who knows exactly how skilled he is.
"There. Order is satisfied. Buffy is satisfied, and I'll just have a nice nap here today." He brought his hand to his pale mouth, and a shockingly red tongue curled around one wet finger from knuckle to tip. "Don't worry, pet. I'm sure I can find some way to conjure pleasant dreams while you're gone."
She slipped from the bed on legs that suddenly seemed too weak to hold her. Spike sprawled naked on his stomach across her bed and watched her dress; all the while savouring the taste of her he'd stolen, like food of the gods. Sweet clover honey, she was. Almost better than tasting her blood. Almost.
Buffy knew he was watching her - she could nearly feel the tingling of her skin under his gaze. So if she stretched a little more languorously, drew her tank top on a little more slowly or smoothed her jeans a little more closely over her hips, it was only that she was . . . tired. And he really didn't need any more sleep than she had had . . .
As she passed through the door to the hall, Buffy found the ammunition for one last dart. "I'll just let Dawn choose something for you to wear then, shall I?" she asked, and ducked out before he could reply.
Gods above and demons below. The woman has no mercy in her at all.
He lay in her bed, just listening to the hiss of water in the pipes, the muffled sounds of women's voices and everyday morning activities, surrounded by her scent and his, mingled and musky. He fancied the conversation over breakfast was a little more interesting today than the usual fare. Only when he heard the front door close behind them did he let sleep carry him away.